I grit my teeth. We’ve been “making do” this entire mission. It was supposed to be a quick recon outside of Kandahar, but this is FUBAR. Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition.
“If we can make it to the HUMMER,” Garrison begins.
I nod. We have extra ammo in the back.
“I’ll go,” Garrison nods.
“No.”
“You outrank me. You stay here,” Garrison argues.
“No.”
The gunfire stopped abruptly. I give him the hand signal for silence.
“Got that tequila in your pocket?” I whisper.
He frowns.
“Don’t,” I glare. “I know you have it. And a lighter. Hand over both.”
Garrison does as I order. A piece of my uniform is already ripped, so I yank it off, stuff it into the neck of the flask, and give him my extra ammo cartridge.
“If I don’t make it, this keeps you going until the fucking cavalry gets here,” I whisper.
Before he can say another word, I light the remnant of my jacket and swing around the corner of the building, away from cover. I run toward the vehicles as Garrison lays down a line of cover fire. Bullets whiz past my shoulder and head from the bad guys.
Enough to give me a direction.
I sprint toward the shooters and throw my Molotov cocktail at them before changing course for the convoy.
Ten seconds later, the flask explodes. I hear cries and shouts from our enemy.
I reach the closest HUMMER, humping it to the other side before the shooters aim at me again.
The back door on the driver’s side is open. I reach in and grab four cartridges of ammunition before the vehicle slams into me sideways. Fire rings around me. I know I’m dead.
I blink a few times but can’t clear the ringing in my head.
More gunfire.
Explosions.
Finally, it goes deathly silent.
This is it. I die in Afghanistan.
But before I can feel sorry for myself or start looking for the flames of Hell, ice-blue eyes swim into my field of vision.
“Well, L-T. It seems you got yourself in one helluva Charlie Foxtrot out here,” Blue Eyes laughs at me, then yells for the medic.
“What?”
“Charlie Foxtrot? Clusterfuck? You must have been hit harder than they think,” Blue Eyes leans closer to me. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you fixed up on the double. M’Kay?”
The warm whiskey voice contrasts with the ice blue of her eyes. She taps a spot below her neck twice. I blink a few times at her name patch: Saber.
Saber. Saber. Saber.
